


You rock my world, Babe

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Drunkeness, F/M, Gaining access to an unfamiliar front door without a key is tricky, Humour, Robin and Strike are in love, because love should always make you laugh together!, lots of fluff, lots of fun, no jiggling!, so very much drunkenness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29401350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: This I hope fulfils the prompt - it is lots of loved up daftness based on them being incredibly drunk - a sort of semi valid reason thrown in for good measure.It is based largely on an episode of Men Behaving Badly with Tony and Gary return home drunk hoping to impress Dorothy and Deborah who are having none of it.....but obviously in my version both Ilsa and Robin are loving their drunken boyz!As usual, with my drunk fics, please assume as drunken a manner as possible (even if sober!) when reading to get the true phonetic impact of their ridiculousness.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29
Collections: Cormoran Strike Valentine’s Day 2021 Prompt Meme Fun





	You rock my world, Babe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobinVenetiaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinVenetiaa/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [RobinVenetiaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinVenetiaa/pseuds/RobinVenetiaa) in the [Cormoran_Strike_Valentines_Day_2021_Prompt_Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cormoran_Strike_Valentines_Day_2021_Prompt_Meme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Robin and Cormoran are a couple and get completely smashed(drunk). Can be a night out or curry at nick and ilsa's. Just them being happy and drunk and in love.

“I can’t find my keys,” Nick slurred, trying to check the pockets of his coat and trousers with the fingers of one hand still grasping a partially filled bottle of lager, a bag of greasy, but delicious smelling food dangling from his other as he shuffled a little on the doorstep of his house.

His enormous school friend was even more unsteady behind him.  
Efforts to light a cigarette had been partially successful and the half burning white stick was jammed limply between his lips, a clanking carrier bag in his spare hand.  
He roughly jostled Nick to the side.

“Ge’ out’tha’way...I’ll do the bell and get Rob’n and Ils...they’ll help us,” he then swiped out fruitlessly at the door surround. “Wha’? S’not there? Nick, where’s th’bell gone?”

“Is a new door...ene’gy effish’unt,” Nick tried to enunciate whilst stifling a belch, “Not got bell on it….I need a piss.”

Strike stared, baffled, at the door, making a series of incoherent noises of confusion, trying to work out how to cope with a lack of door bell which seemed like a ridiculously complex consideration given his completely pissed state.

He, Nick, Ilsa and Robin had been hard at it all evening - a last hurrah to celebrate Nick and Ilsa’s departure for a two year sabbatical living and working in Canada.  
Robin and Cormoran, who had been a couple in the truest sense of the word for six months, had agreed to take on rental of their London home, and also the care of Ricky and Ossie, which had been to everyone’s benefit.  
It would mean Robin and Strike could give the whole cohabiting thing a go and would also mean, thanks to the minimal rent their friends were willing to accept, that they could make a concerted effort to build up the kind of deposit they would require for a place of their own.

Thus, all four were now hammered.

They had started off relatively calmly; a meal with a couple of beers and shared bottle of wine for the ladies. Then, having moved on to a pub which was doing 2 for one cocktails, the evening had started to get rather more hazy.

At some point Robin had flashed her bra and managed to snag a free bottle of Champagne from behind the bar, but they’d been requested to leave shortly after when Nick and Cormoran had apparently been spotted in the gents toilets discussing and practising how to perform a self test for testicular cancer….apparently to a bypasser it had come across as some kind of lewd activity, and the four had tumbled out onto the narrow street, giggling like schoolkids, in search of a new drinking hole.  
The Tottenham had been close enough to be considered the logical choice, and they’d downed several further rounds with a tray of shots of some sort of lurid, fruity flavoured vodka shots accompanying a series of amusing, poignant, rude and heartfelt toasts to the departing couple.

They’d all had a lovely time.

The tube ride had been an opportunity of quiet contemplation, although Strike’s insistence on a deeply soulful rendition of The Times they are a Changin’ at full volume had put paid to that. He’d draped his arms tightly around Ilsa as the train had rattled noisily along, and Ilsa’s already ruined mascara had taken a further beating; as had Robin’s.

The cold night air hitting bladders meant that Ilsa and Robin had stumbled on ahead home to use the loo whilst both Strike and Nick used the obliging park shrubbery before diving into a late night take away for the chips Robin had insisted on.

Therefore they’d reached the new, teal coloured front door of the Herberts and were now trying to gain entrance.  
The lower floor lights had not been switched on but there was a feint glow from the landing where the bathroom was located.

Strike seemed to have decided on a course of action, Nick was still patting each of his pockets in turn, convinced that he would discover the previously unlocated key.

“Leave it t’me, Nick, I’ve got this,” he hiccuped and swallowed, pressing his index finger against the wooden door frame and shouting the word “RRRRIIIIIINNNNGGGG!” in an alarmingly high pitched manner.  
Both men froze and stared at the door before turning to each other.

“S’not workin’ mate!” Strike stated, clutching at Nick’s lapel to stress his desperation and inadequacy, “What’ we gonna do? S’too hard!”

Nick patted ineffectively at his friend’s hand and waved his other in the vague direction of the path. “We can throw stones at the window….alert them,” and he stumbled slightly before swooping down and picking up a small spec of grit.

Strike gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder and stared down, blinking at the ground, looking to follow his lead.  
Nick flung the small piece of stone upwards, staring after it and blinking as it came down to hit him in the face.

“Awwww….tha’s bad luck mate...lemme try,” Strike slurred, he held the half brick he had located next to a plant pot at his shoulder.

Nick held him squarely, and quite aggressively for a seriously drunk man, by his shoulders, “NO! No mate….s’not worth it….if it hits you like mine did mate….you’ll get broken!”

Strike tried to focus his blurred gaze on his friend and gave a weak smile as he dropped the brick with a clatter, “You’re a good mate, mate!” he stated.

They stared again at the front door.  
There wasn’t any movement inside, Nick was doing his drunk, one foot cemented to the floor, the other foot stamping as he managed to struggle with standing upright.

“I can do this….I’ll do it th’army way,” Strike announced, rustling in his bag and sniffing as he withdrew one of the bottles of lager within.

Nick gulped and blinked, “Are you gonna blow it up?” he asked, almost as if he’d be OK with that option given how heavy the pressure was on his bladder.

Strike waved his hand, clutching a glass bottle, “Nope, not tha’...I’ll use precishun’ tapping with a tapping device,” and he cleared his throat, turning the bottle in his hand to hold it upside down, by the neck.  
Nick bent forwards and peered closely at the end of the bottle before Strike flicked the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, panting noisily, before hitting the door panel quite hard with the bottle which obviously instantly smashed.

“OHHhhhhh!” Strike huffed, “Now...tha’ shoulda worked!” he tutted, dropped the remnants of the broken bottle and reached for a second before Nick stopped him.

“Nope! No….y’re wastin’ beer, mate and we need the beer for the chips!” he stated.

“Well how we gonna get in?” Strike asked, sticking out his lower lip and resembling a pug that had swallowed a wasp. “I’ll punch it...that sometimes works with things!” he suggested, but was stopped by Nick who took a shambolic step backwards and aimed his face upwards before shouting so loudly it made Strike step back and steady himself against the potted bay tree (and apologise to it!)

“ILSAAAAAAAAA! COME DOWN! I FUCKIN' NEED YOU!!!”

He then nodded happily towards Strike as the hall light flicked on and the sound of giggling, female voices and one of them loosing their footing on the stairs (Ilsa!) followed by raucous female laughter and a snort (Robin!) sounded behind the door.  
It was opened by Ilsa, rubbing at her backside and wincing.

“You’ve b’n ages,” she stated, “We got changed an’ everythin’” she explained and gestured vaguely towards Robin who was behind her and still attempting to get her arm into the sleeve of a baggy cardigan which had twisted on itself at the back.

“Hullo,” she grinned, her blue-grey heart eyes firmly focusing on Strike; a big, goofy grin breaking out on his face as he stared back at her unashamedly propped against the door frame.  
“Careful of the floor, b’cause it’s crunchy!” he explained, stepping on some of the broken beer bottle as he lurched inside the hallway after Nick.

Both men dumped down their bags, Nick dragged himself upstairs to piss again and hopefully wash his hands, Strike used the kitchen sink to wash his own, noticing a couple of bleeding fresh cuts that he couldn’t explain to Robin how he’d got...they simply indulged in a few moments of her attempting to tend to his wounds with kitchen paper and her lips, which although ineffective was incredibly adorable, and resulted in a loud, “Awwwwww” from Ilsa when she spotted them together.

“I love you two being all in love. You are aren’t you? You are in love proper?” she asked, draping one arm around each of them at the breakfast bar.  
Both Strike and Robin blushed a little; they’d told each other pretty quickly actually, both knowing for ages before they’d got together that they were completely lost to the other.  
Strike’s voice became soft and gravelly, “Yeah…..we are Ils...proper, proper in love. Big time, f’rever.”

Ilsa stumbled into the living room, humming lightly, leaving the loved up pair wrapping their arms around the other, foreheads fused together.

“Shall I show you how much I love you, Rob’n?” Strike asked, puckering his lips out to lightly meet hers.

She giggled, “How? What you gonna use? Hey?” 

He chuckled boyishly, “I’ll use this,” and he gave what in sober times would have possibly been a Dolokhovian style glare, but in his current state looked like trapped wind, as he ground his hips against her.

Robin arched her eyebrow and slow blinked, “You gonna show me with lager?” she asked and reached down to withdraw the bottle which was wedged in his huge overcoat pocket and rubbing against her thigh.

He regarded the bottle as if confused by its presence, “No! Not with lager….with this,” and again her wriggled his groin against her, this time making his intent clearer.

Robin gave a feminine hum and trailed her nose against his, “Ooohhh, I like that better than lager…..lager makes me burp!” she then pressed herself away from him and encouraged him to follow her into the living room with a beckoning finger.

After a further hour of reminiscing, laughing, eating chips and drunk conversations that had covered all manner of topics, including a detailed debate about whether alcohol free gin should be considered a viable product, or whether all those involved in it’s production, sale and consumption should be arrested, or shot, they decided to call it a night.

Ilsa and Nick had insisted that as they had already packed and were leaving with only a small amount of luggage left for their flight that Robin and Cormoran should settle into what was now ‘their’ bedroom. And so they were now mumbling and stumbling around in the slightly unfamiliar room as they discarded clothing and a limb, used the ensuite - Robin brushing her teeth while Strike pee’d beside her - and eventually collapsed on the bed.

Strike gave a lascivious growl and trailed hot, wet, minty kisses along Robin’s chest as she lay on her back.  
He panted a little, sweat on his brow as alcohol still attempted to make its way out of his system.  
“What made you flash your bra this evening, Miss Ellacott? These, are now for my eyes only you know!” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose and beard against the softness of Robin’s beautiful boobs.

She giggled, “I didn’t flash my boobs….jus’ my bra. An’ it was b’cause he was looking desirously at my cleavage!” she stabbed Strike on the shoulder with her index finger for added impact.

He ceased his investigation of her tits and peered at her, “Wha’ d’ya mean? How was he looking desirously at you? Show me...an’ then if I see other men doin’ it I can punch ‘em!”

She sniggered again but licked her lips, “OK…’was like this,” and she gave him what she thought was a narrow eyed smoulder which resulted in him laughing.

“Tha’s not desirous….tha’s cross eyed! THIS...this is a desirous look...wait,” he gave a belch and aimed his exhalation away from her face before turning back and piercing her with a look that made her alcohol addled brain explode.

“Hmmmmm….OK...tha’s much nicer….I’d give YOU the Champagne if you did that!” and she made a long ‘ooooooo’ sound as he latched onto one of her breasts and began devouring her.  
She wriggled and they rolled a little, her hand sliding down the fur of his chest and belly seeking out what she’d felt being pressed against her in the kitchen and finding it semi ready for action.

“Give it a minute...it's cold,” he whispered before sucking and grunting a little at her ear.  
Robin loved the sensation usually, but was feeling the effects of drink more so now that they’d laid down and she nudged his shoulder with her hand, making him instantly stop and loosen his grasp of her.

“You OK?” he asked; the fact that no matter how inebriated he would always hold himself in check with her was akin to his superpower.

“I don’t want to jiggle about,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose at him.

He smirked, “Ohhhh, I like the jiggling!” he grinned and gently cupped each of her breasts giving them a slight grope as she laughed with him.

“Noooo…..I don’t want my tummy to jiggle….I’ve got so much booze in there I'll be like a hooman cocktail shaker!” she said, screwing up her face.

He looked down between them, “I could go on top?......you won’t jiggle as much then,” he suggested, but feared that perhaps a combination of their combined alcohol consumption meant that tonight would not be the night for christening the new bed!

“Can we rain check?” Robin suggested, stroking her fingers against his chest and bicep, enjoying how small her hand felt against his breadth.

He nodded, “Of course we can….it’ll just make it all the sweeter by waiting.”

He gave a groan and adjusted his position, drawing Robin’s body across his, clasping and entwining her fingers with his and resting them both at the central dip of his chest.  
“I love you Ellacott,” he said softly, pressing his lips to her scalp. “An’ tomorrow I will rock...your...world, Babes!”

She hummed in delighted, romantic joy.  
Being curled beside him like this was just bliss….although she might at some point need to get up and hurl into the bog.  
However as she sighed and snuggled closer to him she was under no doubt that he’d be the one holding her hair.  
And THAT, that was true love!


End file.
